


Special Relationship

by AnyaYanko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Albus Dumbledore Being an Idiot, Albus Dumbledore Lives, Bathing/Washing, Complicated Relationships, Consensual, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Fluff and Angst, Harry is 16/17, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Non-Explicit, Not Canon Compliant, Not manipulative, Questionable Relationship, Sexual Repression, Sort Of, missunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-27 19:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20051200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaYanko/pseuds/AnyaYanko
Summary: When Harry reaches out unexpectedly his relationship with the headmaster changes forever. Dumbledore has always been there for him but they have never really allowed themselves to get close. Not physically, anyway.Now Harry is being showered with affection but he still can’t seem to get enough. There’s a hole in his soul and he’s doing all he can to fill it.





	1. Chapter 1

It all started with a hug.

Harry never meant to initiate it. He knew he was far too old for that sort of thing and it was absurd to try hugging the headmaster anyway, but somehow he had stretched out his arms before he even knew what he was doing; his body acting without his permission.

It was only for moment before he took control again, little more than a spasm or a reflex, and he covered it up well by clutching at the blankets and pulling them up higher, pretending that he had just been cold. Dumbledore wasn’t fooled though. His bright blue eyes never missed anything.

At first, Harry thought he would just ignore what had happened, as he had so many times before, pretending just to spare Harry’s feelings. He seemed to be minded to do so, turning slightly as if he meant to get up and leave him, but something made him change his mind.

Instead he gazed down at Harry for a couple of seconds, brows furrowed and lips tight, and reached down gently to wrap his arms around him.

Harry shuddered a little in response. He couldn’t remember anyone ever hugging him like that before, certainly not his Aunt and Uncle, and not even Mrs Weasley.

The shock of it left him frozen for a moment and then he melted helplessly into the embrace. His hands, weak and trembling, finding their way to the old man’s back, coiling themselves in his long, thick hair. He clung to him fiercely, wishing he never had to let go.

When they finally pulled apart Dumbledore took his face in his hand and stroked softly at his cheeks, tracing the tracks that his tears had made on his skin.

‘You’ve been so brave, Harry,’ he whispered. ‘My brave, beautiful boy. You must know how proud I am of you.’

And it was those words undid him entirely, cracking his heart in two and leaving a large, gaping wound.

**

They had always been close, of course. At least, closer than the average teacher and student, what with their life-and-death missions and secret meetings, but after that night in the hospital wing they grew even closer.

Now that taboo against touching had been broken Dumbledore often placed a hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair in an affectionate, fatherly sort of way.

Harry usually felt overwhelmed by these soft, fleeting touches, and yet he always craved more. At night, he would lie awake in the dormitory with his arms wrapped tight around his own shoulders, reliving what it felt like to be held by the headmaster.

He knew that what he was feeling completely ridiculous, that teenage boys shouldn’t long to be held and caressed by their teachers, but he couldn’t stifle the craving in his heart, no matter how hard he tried.

**

On Christmas day Harry waited for the headmaster outside his office, weak-kneed and nervous, hot, sweaty hands clamped tight about a bright, paper package tied with a ribbon.

Dumbledore seemed surprised to find him there, given how late it was, but his face softened with understanding when he saw what Harry was holding.

‘Is that for me?’ He whispered.

Harry nodded shyly, not trusting himself to speak.

Dumbledore smiled in a strange, pained sort of way, eyes creasing at the corners. ‘That’s so sweet of you.’

He considered for a moment and then placed a hand on Harry’s arm.

‘Why don’t you come up to my room. We’ll be more comfortable there.’

Harry nodded again, heart fluttering in his chest. He knew that all the teachers had private rooms in the school, hidden away like their offices, but he had never see one before.

Dumbledore’s living space was much like his office; large and beautiful and full of books. Through a little alcove, separated by a curtain, Harry could just make out a huge four-poser bed. In one corner there was a golden harp and in another, a grand piano. Everything was covered in Christmas decorations. Long strings of tinsel, thick wreaths of holly, nuts and berries and red and green ribbons.

‘Did you decorate in here?’ Harry asked, sinking to his knees in front of the fireplace. ‘It doesn’t look like the rest of the school.’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore said, lighting the fire with a flick of his fingers and joining Harry on the floor. ‘I like to go all out for Christmas. It’s my absolute favourite time of year.’

He gestured at the present in Harry’s hands.

‘May I?’

Harry held it out, blushing. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ he muttered. ‘Just something silly. A sort of joke.’

He watched anxiously as the headmaster carefully peeled back the paper. Most of his face was in shadow, but his eyes glittered bright in the firelight.

‘Socks,’ he breathed.

‘I know it’s probably not really what you want,’ Harry said quickly, worried that the headmaster would think he was stupid. ‘I just thought it would be funny.’

Dumbledore did not smile, although his eyes were twinkling like twin stars.

‘You tried to bring me my heart’s deepest desire,’ he murmured. ‘I couldn’t ask for a more thoughtful gift.’

Harry had to look away, too embaressed to meet the headmaster’s eyes.

‘I‘m so sorry, I didn’t get you anything,’ Dumbledore continued sadly. ‘It didn’t even occur to me.’

‘It’s okay,’ Harry said quickly. ‘We’ve never exchanged gifts before.’

‘I know, but that’s my fault,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I could have sent you something every year. I know you never get any gifts from your aunt and uncle.’

‘You sent me my father’s cloak,’ Harry objected. ‘In my first year.’

‘I only returned that,’ Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. ‘It was rightfully yours to begin with.’

He combed fondly through Harry’s hair, making the thick curls even more unruly than before.

‘I wasted so much time, worrying about showing favouritism. It was so foolish of me, as everyone already knows you have a special place in my heart.'

‘Well, I am the chosen one,’ Harry said breazily, trying to make a joke out of it.

‘It's more than just that,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘I've always cared for you, just for who you are. You're such a good, kind boy.'

They sat in silence together for a short time, while the fire crackled and spat.

‘Perhaps we could go into town one day,' Dumbledore suggested, 'and I could you buy you something special while we're out. Would you like that?’

‘Oh, yes,' Harry said eagerly. ‘I’d like that a lot.’

The headmaster beamed at him. ‘Well, that’s settled then, but I want to give you something now too.’

He got up from the rug and went over to one of the long, tall bookshelves. After a few moments consideration he took out a small blue book and brought it back over to Harry.

‘This was one of my favourites when I was a child,' he told him. 'I think you might enjoy it too, although you're a little old for it now.'

Harry flicked through the book with interest, admiring all the moving illustrations. On the first page, just under the title, Dumbledore had written a few lines declaring his ownership in childish looping letters. The ink was a little faded, but Harry could still make out the name, 'Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'

‘It’s lovely,’ Harry said, with a little lump in his throat. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

**

Dumbledore took him out shopping the very next weekend. Not in Hogsmede or Diagon Alley, as Harry had expected, but into the heart of London and all the muggle shopping centres and high streets.

‘I thought it might make a nice change for you,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘I know you have your own gold to spend in our world but I expect you never get treated to anything when you’re with your aunt and uncle.’

He was right, of course. No doubt he had noticed Harry’s shabby, oversized clothes, the scuffed sneakers he wore under his robes and his battered old backpack. He quickly replaced all of these, giving Harry something decent that he could wear outside of term-time.

‘Is there anything else you might like?’ He asked as he adjusted a new duffle-coat over his narrow shoulders. ‘Anything that your cousin has which you’ve already wanted. I don’t know much about computers but - ‘

‘You don’t need to get me a computer or anything like that’ Harry said quickly. ‘You’ve spent too much on me already. I only bought you socks.’

‘Yes, but you’re the child and I’m the adult,’ Dumbledore said smiling. ‘I have a lot more money than you, even counting your parents’ fortune, and I owe you at ten years worth of birthday and Christmas presents.’

Harry would have been happy just to have Dumbledore fussing over him, straightening his shirts and tying his laces, as if he were a little boy. When they walked down the bustling street the old man even took his hand and held it tight.

For once, Harry was glad that he was small for his age. He could pass as a much younger child out for a special treat with his grandfather.

When they stopped for lunch and Dumbledore ordered him a deluxe ice scream sundae, the pretty waitress smiled at him indulgently and simpered,

‘Aren’t you a lucky little boy?’

**

Once term started they weren’t able to see each other as much. They never made any arrangements to meet in the evenings, but now and again Harry crept out in his invisibility cloak and caught the Headmaster outside his office.  
  
Dumbledore usually took Harry up to his living room again so that they could stay up late together, talking or playing games, away from the prying eyes of all the portraits of previous headmasters.

He often had a little treat to share with him, like a box of chocolates or a couple of bottles of butter-beer, and they worked their way through these companionably.

The headmaster had just as great a gift for music as he had for magic, and sometimes he played for Harry, who listened with pleasure to the complicated classical peices.  
  
Dumbledore taught Harry the names of all the chords and composers and even got him to play a couple of simple tunes himself, although he had no great talent for music. Harry knew he would never be able to play the way the headmaster did but he still enjoyed their little lessons because it gave him another reason to get close to the old man and have him touch him.

If they were seated at the piano Dumbledore wrapped his arms around him and covered his hands with his own, guiding his fingers up and down the keys. It was a wonderful feeling to be held like this and be lead through a melody. Almost like dancing, although not nearly as embaressing.

Harry was beginning to live for these brief, intimate moments with Dumbledore, waiting impatiently for the next opportunity to slip away and be with him. Nothing gave him more pleasure than curling up by the fire by the headmaster, with his fingers in his hair. Not even Quidditch.  
  
The best part came at the end of the night, though, when they finally said goodbye and Dumbledore pulled him into a hug.

Harry looked forward to that moment more than anything else, even though it never lasted more than a couple of seconds, and he had to leave as soon as it was over. His body ached to be held.

**

'I have another present for you,' Dumbledore announced one day, in the middle of spring. 'Something very special.'

'Its too early for my birthday,' Harry replied, 'and you've given me so much already.'

'I know,' Dumbledore said, 'but I’ve been thinking of getting you this ever since Christmas.’

Harry was curious, especially when Dumbledore presented him with a large cardboard box covered in gold wrapping paper. It jumped a little when he took hold of it, as if there was something alive inside.

'Its not an animal is it?' Harry asked cautiously. There was no airholes in the ornate giftwrap, but there was no mistaking that kind of movement.

'No,' Dumbledore assured him, smiling even wider. ‘It is enchanted though, so it will move about.'

He watched as Harry tore his way through the glitter and gauze, unable to hide his excitement. When Harry peeled back the last layer of tissue paper something fluffy jumped up, poking and snuffling at his hands.

Harry jumped back in alarm, thinking that he had been tricked, and then let out a splutter of laughter.

'Its a teddy bear!' He exclaimed.

'That's right,' Dumbledore said, laughing too. 'I thought you'd probably never had one, at least not like this. They're amazing things.'

He knelt forward and lifted the bear out of the box. The little fluffy body did not hang limply in his hands, as a Muggle bear would, but wriggled restlessly and reached up with its paws to cling to Dumbledore's wrists.

It had a very dopey face, with black button eyes and a pouting mouth, and fussed constantly, like a small puppy or newborn baby.

'Here, give it a good cuddle,' Dumbledore said, flinging the bear over to Harry who caught it clumsily.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the sweet, snuffling creature and felt more than a little foolish.

'I suppose you're too old for something like this,' Dumbledore said, as Harry clutched the bear awkwardky to his chest. 'I just thought it would be nice.’

'It is,' Harry said quickly. 'I just - I don't know what it wants and I'm worried about hurting it.'

He looked up at Dumbledore with an agonized expression, which made the old man laugh out loud again.

'You can't hurt it,' He assured Harry. 'It's just like a warm, wriggly pillow that can hug you back. It’s made to withstand the most viscous of children. Here, I'll show you.'

He grabbed the bear by the scruff of its neck, shook it violently and the threw it against the wall. Harry gasped in shock, but the bear just got right back up again, giggling gruffly, and toddled over to them.

'He's a bit of a machovist, isn't he?' Harry said, picking the bear up and shaking him about.

'Well, I wouldn't put it like that,' Dumbledore replied, 'but he'll certainly take whatever you give him and always come back for more.'

He held out his hands again and when Harry tossed the bear to him he took it in his mouth and shook it back and forth like a dog, making Harry double-over with laughter.

'He's meant to be chewed up and mauled and dribbled on,' Dumbledore told him, eyes glittering. 'That's what babies do.'

'That's what wild dogs too,' Harry said, still giggling.

'They're pretty much the same thing.’

The two of them played like this for some time, laughing raucously. Harry quickly started to lose his inhibitions and was soon biting and shaking at the bear, just as the headmaster had done.

He supposed he must have lost his mind entirely, because after throwing the bear back and forth for some time, Harry suddenly launched himself at the headmaster and instead of attacking the bear, attacked him instead, burrowing his face into the old man's neck and biting down hard on the soft, smooth flesh.

Dumbledore gasped loudly and tried to push Harry away but it was a moment before Harry could even comprehend what he'd done. When he finally did pull away and saw the deep indentations in the old man's throat he was horrified.

'I - I'm so sorry,' He stuttered, wiping frantically at his mouth. 'I don't know why I did that. I just got ... confused.'

He scrabbled around for a more satisfactory explanation but there was no sound reason for suddenly biting the professor as if he was a peice of meat.

Dumbledore felt at the wound tentitively and then waved his wand over it, healing it in an instant, while the teddy bear giggled and gurgled in his lap.

'It's quite alright, Harry,' he said calmly.

'It's not,' Harry protested, tears starting in his eyes. 'I hurt you. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just completely lost it there.'

'There's nothing wrong with you,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'We were just playing a game and it got out of hand. That's all.'

There was a trace of uncertainty in his voice though, a touch of concern beneath the confident reassurances. He had a right to be alarmed by what had just happened. It was the sort of thing that would throw anyone for all loop.

'Come here,' he told Harry, seeing how distressed he still was. 'Let's all have a big cuddle, the three of us.'

Harry shuffled over to Dumbledore awkardly and let him draw him into a tight hug, with the bear sandwiched between them.

'It's alright,' Dumbledore murmured, 'it's alright, Harry. Really, it is.'

Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily.

'Sometimes, we get so overwelmed by feelings that we just don't know what to do with them,’ Dumbledore said, stroking at Harry’s hair.

Harry nodded, his stomach writhing with shame.

For several weeks after, the memory of that moment would resurface at random times, making him cringe all over again. He couldn't help recalling how loose the man's skin was and how it felt between his teeth, firm and unyielding and yet also impossibly soft, like finely pummeled dough.

It was an obscene transgression, the sort of thing that only belonged in the most fevered of dreams, and yet Dumbledore had brushed it off easily, as if it were the lightest and most understandable of indiscretions.

It made Harry wonder where the boundaries really lay in this new relationship. If absutely anything could be forgiven then perhaps there were no limits at all.

**

At the end of term Harry went to visit Dumbledore in his office. It felt strangely surreal to be sitting on the other side of the professor's desk again, as if they were just two actors, playing the parts of headmaster and student.

‘I was just wondering,' he began nervously, 'whether it would be possible to stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays? I know it's not usually allowed but I thought perhaps you could make an exception? Just this once?'

Dumbledore surveyed him seriously, over the top of his glasses.

'You know you are not the first student to make this request.'

Harry nodded solemnly, thinking of Tom Riddle, so desperate to avoid returning to his orphanage.

'We usually refuse simply because of the logistical issues,' Dumbledore explained, 'the school completely shuts down over the holidays and it's difficult to make arrangements for a single student. Most of the staff go on leave and even the house-elves reduce their workload.'

'Will you still be here?' Harry asked.

Dumbledore's face softened. 'Yes,' he admitted, 'I’ll still be here.'

Harry looked at him meaningfully. ‘Well then ... ?’

'There is still the small matter of security,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘We won’t be able to guatentee your safety, as we would during term-time.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But then again you seem to get yourself into mortal peril no matter where you are, so I don't think that matters so much.'

'Yeah,' Harry said hopefully, 'and my relatives wouldn't care if I got myself killed or seriously injured anyway.'

'There are plenty of other people who would care,' Dumbledore reminded him. 'I would have to answer to them if I compromised your safety.'

'The ministry isn't so keen on me anymore,' Harry objected. 'Besides, I would be safe enough with you, wouldn't I? Unless Hogwarts came under direct attack and that’s not likely.'

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'I'm sure the Weasleys will want you to stay with them for some of the holidays. Haven't they already invited you?'

'I can always join them later,’ Harry said. ‘I would rather be here for the rest of the time though.'

Dumbledore sat back in his seat. 'You would still need to return to Privet Drive first, if only for a day or two. After that, I could make arrangements for you to return here if you are sure that's what you want?’

Harry nodded eagerly. 'Yes, I'm sure.'

**

Harry felt entirely at home in the empty castle with only the headmaster for company. He spent the mornings alone, practicing flying on the quidditch pitch, and the afternoons with Dumbledore, in his private rooms.

One day he bumped into the headmaster unexpectedly, on his way back in from the grounds, all covered in mud and sweat.

‘How does one small boy get so dirty playing by himself?’ Dumbledore asked, fingering one torn cuff. ‘You look like you’ve been in a fight with the whomping willow.’

Harry grinned at him apologetically. ‘I was going to go wash before coming to see you,’ he assured him.

‘Of course,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Why don’t you come upstairs now and use my bathroom? It’s not quite as large as the prefect’s bathrooms, but it’s much nicer than the one in the dormitory, and it will save you going back and forth.’

Harry hesitated for a moment and then slipped his broom under his arm. ‘Okay.’

The headmaster led him up to his living room and then through to another hidden camber. This one was covered in glittering white and gold tiles and there was a huge, claw-footed bathtub taking up most of the space.

Harry stood to one side awkwardly while Dumbledore filled the tub, not sure whether he should start undressing. Did the headmaster really expect him to get naked in front of him?

When the bath was full to the brim with warm, soapy water, Dumbledore turned around and smiled at Harry.

‘I’ll leave the door open just a little,’ he told him, ‘so you can call me if you want anything.’

Then he left him alone.

Harry still hesitated for a few moments, fidgeting with his collar, before yanking his jumper up over his head and wriggling out of his jeans. He kicked the clothes away and then climbed into the tub, gasping at the heat.

The bath smelt of lavender and vanilla and the suds were bright blue and purple. As Harry watched, exotic fish swam in and out of the tiles and when he tapped the ceramic they jumped and shivered, scales rippling and glittering.

‘When was this bathroom built?’ Harry called out curiously. ’It’s beautiful.’

‘It’s been here since the school was first built,’ Dumbledore yelled back, ‘but it’s been refurbished several times.’

Harry looked around again, noting with amusement that there were books in here too, in large glass cabinets on the walls. There was also a comfortable chair in one corner.

‘Why isn’t there a toilet in here?’

He heard the headmaster chuckle. ‘Flushing toilets weren’t added to the castle until much later. There’s a separate water closet downstairs.’

Harry gathered some foam on his fingers, blew it into the air, glanced back at the empty chair.

‘Why don’t you come in here with me?’ He suggested, with a slight tremor. ‘Then we can talk properly.’

There was a creak from the other room. ‘Are you sure?’

Harry glanced down at himself to make sure that his body was completely covered by bubbles.

‘Yeah,’ he yelled. ‘I feel stupid shouting like this.’

Dumbledore shuffled in, stopping to scoop up Harry’s clothes, and then sunk into the empty chair.

Harry smiled shyly and then turned back to the wall. ‘So ... um ... when did these fish get here?’

Dumbledore frowned. ‘I think they were added about two centuries ago by Delphinius Farley. He was a bit of an eccentric. Liked all things colourful and garish.’

Harry spluttered. ‘You’re one to talk.’

Dumbledore grinned. ‘I know, I wasn’t saying that I didn’t like them. I’m very fond of them all, especially the clownfish.’

Harry prodded at the fish again, watching them pout and squirm. Transparent, two-dimensions bubbles popped out of their mouths and floated up to the ceiling.

Dumbledore started to hum, absent-mindedly, and Harry recognised the tune as Vivaldi’s Mandolin Concerto. He smiled to himself as he dipped his head under the water, rinsing the suds from his hair.

The wicker chair creaked. ‘There’s a shower head between the taps.’ Dumbledore told him. ‘Just pull out the nozzle and twist the ring to set the water running.’

‘Oh thanks,’ Harry mumbled, fumbling with the strange, silver fittings.

Dumbledore got up to grab a bottle of shampoo, just as Harry got the shower working and sprayed himself full in the face. Dumbledore set the shampoo down again and grabbed a towel for Harry instead, mopping at his eyes.

‘Would you like me to wash your hair for you?’ He asked softly.

Harry coughed and spluttered, going bright red. ‘Y-you don’t have to.’

Dumbledore chuckled, wiping the soap and snot from Harry’s nose. ‘I know I don’t have to. I’d _like_ to.’

Harry ducked his head down, feeling his face burn. ‘Alright,’ he mumbled. ‘I think I’d like that too.’

He sat very still as Dumbledore worked up a lather, his fingers teasing gently at Harry’s scalp. It sent tingles down the back of Harry’s neckand all along his spine. He closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him, along with the warm water.

Once he had rinsed Harry’s hair clean and run a brush through his thick, damp locks, Dumbledore moved his hands down, massaging soap into Harry’s shoulders and back.

Harry could tell that it was supposed to be nice and soothing, and in some ways it was, but it was also incredibly intense and intimate. Dumbledore might be treating him like a baby, but he was not one, and he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to the soft, gentle touches.

He drew up his legs slowly, to make sure that his erection couldn’t be seen. The bubbles were still at least an inch thick, but Harry didn’t want to take any chances.

Dumbledore rinsed the soap off and grabbed another large, white towel, holding it out in front of himself and smiling playfully at Harry.

Harry understood that the old man meant for him to get up and walk into the towel so that he could envelop him in a warm, fluffy hug and tousle his hair dry. Harry couldn’t do that though, not in his condition, so he just sat there, staring up helplessly at the headmaster.

Dumbledore quickly lowered the towel, looking sheepish. ‘Of course, you’ll want to get out by yourself. I’ll leave you to it.’

He folded up the towel again, set it aside and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Harry hugged his knees to his chest, cursing his body. He felt so ashamed and disappointed that he thought he might cry. He would have loved to have tumbled into the old man’s arms and be troweled off like an infant and now he had lost the chance.

He drained the bath entirely, sitting in the empty porcelain tub for several minutes, waiting for his dick to go limp. When he was all soft and shivery he climbed out again and grabbed at the towel.

Dumbledore had laid out a fresh set of robes for him, which were a little too large and a violent shade of purple. Harry prodded at these for a moment before deciding to just stick with a towel, leaving the bathroom just as he was.

Dumbledore was sat in his armchair, leafing through a book, but he looked up Harry when he came in, surprised to see him still in a state of undress.

Harry crossed the room unsteadily and then sunk to his knees in front of Dumbledore’s chair, tugging at the towel around his neck.

‘Would you dry my hair for me?’ He asked tremulously.

Dumbledore did not hesitate. He laid down his book and pulled Harry right up into his lap. Harry leant back against the old man’s chest, as he towelled him off, feeling more at peace than he had ever done before.

‘You’re covered in scratches and bruises,’ Dumbledore chided, running his fingertips lightly over Harry’s arms. ‘You always seem to get yourself into trouble, even when there’s no one else around.’

‘I took a tumble when flying,’ Harry admitted. ‘It wasn’t that bad though. I just scratched my hands and scraped my knees.’

‘Let me see,’ Dumbledore demanded. He pulled up Harry’s leg and prodded gently at the wound. ‘We can take care of all of this with a little _Salvitate_.’

He summoned a small glass jar from one of the cabinets on the wall and scooped out a glob of clear balm. When he rubbed it into Harry’s wounds they closed instantly, healing over with smooth, fresh skin.

Harry held out his left arm and then his right but when he kicked up his left leg Dumbledore just frowned down at it.

‘There’s nothing wrong with this one,’ he said pointedly.

‘Oh, right,’ Harry said, blushing.

Dumbledore smiled. ‘I’ll rub in some moisturiser instead. _Salvitate_ is too expensive to waste.’

Harry watched as Dumbledore summoned another small bottle and coated his fingers in lotion. His heart pounded almost painfully as the old man stroked up and down his leg, massaging at his calf and thigh.

Unlike before, there was no excuse for Dumbledore to be touching him like this and they both knew it. They were only doing it because they wanted to, which made it far more frightening and intimate.

‘Does that feel okay?’ Dumbledore asked after a moment, his voice little more than a whisper.

‘Yes,’ Harry breathed. ‘That’s nice.’

**

This became their own special ritual, repeated almost every night. A warm bath and then a long massage in the headmaster’s large, winged armchair.

Harry knew that what they were doing was wrong. If anyone else knew what they did together they would be appalled. Teachers were not supposed to bathe their teenage students or towel them off, naked by the fire.

If only he were a small child, six or seven years old, and Dumbledore was his parent, then there would have been nothing questionable about their bath-time routine, but as it was, the whole thing was tainted by uncertainty.

Harry was an adolescent, with a rapidly developing body, and whenever Dumbledore touched him, no matter how gently and innocently, it couldn’t help but feel somewhat sensual.

Harry had a hard enough time sorting it out in his own head so who knew what an outsider would make of it. Sometimes he lay awake at night, with a dull ache in the back of his head and a throbbing in his groin, and wondered if he was going mad.

He felt fairly sure that what he felt for Dumbledore was something between a father or a lover and thought that it was probably the same for Dumbledore himself, but could such a relationship ever be considered natural or right?

He supposed that old men used to have affairs with adolescent boys all the time in the past, in Ancient Greece or wherever, and no one batted an eye. Perhaps that was just a myth, though. It certainly wouldn’t be tolerated today,

**

‘Have you ever had a favourite before?’ Harry asked tentatively, from his familiar position, in the headmaster’s arms.

Dumbledore frowned down at him, fingers stilling in his hair. ‘What do you mean?’

Harry faltered a little, wondering whether he shouldn’t have said anything. It might have been a mistake to try and name the unnamable thing between them.

‘I mean ... a special student,’ he whispered softly. ‘Like me ... like this ...’

Dumbledore frowned even more deeply, a heavy crease working its way between his eyebrows.

‘Harry, what exactly do you think ...’ Then he trailed off, for the first time Harry could remember, without finishing his sentence.

A queer expression flickered across his face, too fast for Harry to read, and then he became sad and distant. His other hand, which had been resting on Harry’s thigh, slid away quickly, like a startled snake.

‘I-I’m sorry,’ Harry stuttered. ‘I didn’t mean to - ‘ He shrank up small, in the old man’s lap. ‘Are you angry with me?’

Dumbledore’s face softened. ‘No, of course not, Harry.’ His hand moved back to Harry’s thigh and resumed its pattern of stroking, up and down, as if there’d been no interruption.

‘You’ve done nothing wrong. You know that, don’t you? You’ve never done anything wrong.’

Harry nodded, snuggling closer to the headmaster.

‘And you know I would never to do anything to hurt you,’ Dumbledore continued, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he were in pain.

‘Yeah,’ Harry sighed. ‘I know.’

Dumbledore’s free hand moved to Harry’s back, fingers tracing the sharp edges of his shoulder blades.

‘I don’t want you to ever feel uncomfortable around me. I hope I’ve never done anything to frighten or ... upset you.’

‘Of course not,’ Harry said quickly. ‘I like being with you like this. You know that.’

He was pretty sure that the headmaster had noticed his intermittent erections, although he had never commented on them. There was only so much a teenage boy could do when he was practically naked.

‘Well, I know that sometimes feelings can get a little ... mixed up.’ Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry had never heard him hesitate so much or sound so uncertain. He tilted his head into the crook beneath Dumbledore’s chin.

‘You’re a wonderful man,’ he murmured. ‘I could never feel unsafe or uncomfortable around you.’

**

The next night he crept down to the headmaster’s office to surprise him, dressed just in his pyjamas. Dumbledore laughed when he saw Harry come in, swinging his teddy bear in one hand.

‘I thought maybe you could come and tuck me in,’ Harry suggested playfully. ‘After all, there’s no one else in the dormitory right now.’

Dumbledore got up eagerly from his behind his desk and took the bear’s free paw.

‘Come on then, darling boy,’ he murmured. ‘If you’re good, perhaps I’ll tell you a story.’

Harry felt a fresh, exquisite thrill when the headmaster leant over him, straightening the duvet across his chest.

‘Would you like a goodnight kiss?’ Dumbledore asked, smoothing back Harry’s hair.

‘Yes,’ Harry breathed, feeling his heart thumping in his chest.

Dumbledore started to lean in and then pulled back quickly, as teasing smile on his lips.

‘You won’t bite?’

Harry flushed. ‘No! You know I won’t! Why do you have to bring that up now?’

Dumbledore chuckled. ‘You know I’m only playing with you.’

He leant in again and pressed his mouth to Harry’s cheek. His lips were very soft and dry and his beard tickled at Harry’s face and neck.

‘That’s how it’s done,’ he told Harry. ‘No teeth, just lips.’

Taking this as an invitation, Harry reached up to wrap his arms around Dumbledore’s neck and plant his own kiss on the man’s pale, papery cheek.

When he pulled away again he saw that the headmaster was blushing a little, which surprised him. Why should something so small and insignificant as a kiss affect him so much, especially after he had already caressed Harry’s half-naked body more than a dozen times.

‘That’s my sweet boy,’ Dumbledore murmured, stroking at his face,

‘You promised me a story,’ Harry reminded him.

Dumbledore chuckled again and sunk down onto the mattress. ‘Okay, Just a short one though.’

When he finally left Harry he pressed half a dozen kisses to his cheek and forehead, making Harry’s face burn all over.

**

With everything else that was going on, Harry knew it wouldn’t be long before his private meetings with Dumbledore came to end. It was just too dangerous for them to continue.

Harry had always understood, deep in his bones, that what they had was temporary anyway. Something special that could only last in the ephemeral bubble between childhood and adulthood. Now that they were standing on the brink of outright war, Harry knew he would have to grow up fast.

When Dumbledore invited him upstairs, after the Halloween feast, he knew that it would be the very last time. He had already arranged to go away with Ron and Hermione, over the holidays, searching for horocruxes, and there was a strong possibility that he wouldn’t be able to come back .

Dumbledore was especially tender with him, stroking his hair and kissing at his face. Harry had to close his eyes against the onslaught of love and affection, struggling to hold back tears.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Dumbledore told him, over and over. ‘I’m so very, very proud of you, Harry.’

Then he gave him the one thing he had always withheld from him before, the one thing Harry had always longed for, more than anything else.

‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I love you so much. I will always, always love you.’

Harry wept then, unable to stop himself, and clung to the old man’s neck.

‘I love you too,’ he told him. ‘With all my heart.’

**


	2. Chapter 2

They met again, purely by chance, in a crowded street in Edinburgh, surrounded by muggles.

It had been over eight years since they last saw each other in person. They exchanged letters, from time to time, but never visited one another. Harry had thought it was best if they kept their distance.

After the final battle they had shared a very brief embrace in the courtyard. A single moment of tenderness, fuelled by sorrow and relief. That had been in public though, with everyone else looking on fondly, so it was not as intimate as it could have been. Their real goodbye was still the one they had shared one year before that, in Dumbledore’s private sitting room. That was the last time that they had been truly close.

When Harry heard the old man calling his name and turned to see him, amongst all the shoppers and tourists, he felt like he had walked into a dream. Albus Dumbledore was wearing a billowing white shirt and a waistcoat patterned with peacock feathers. Even in so-called muggle clothes he stood out like a sore thumb, recognisable from over a mile away.

‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ Harry exclaimed. ‘I mean, I can’t believe you’re here, right now.’

‘I know,’ Dumbledore laughed. ‘Quite the coincidence.’

Harry couldn’t stop staring at Dumbledore’s face.

‘You look just like you did when I last saw you,’ He told him. ‘You haven’t changed at all.’

‘That tends to happen when you reach a certain age,’ Dumbledore replied. ’The old stay old for a very long time.’

He appraised Harry in return.

‘You’ve changed quite a bit though,’ he said, reaching out to touch the scar on Harry’s cheek. ‘Building up a nice little collection.

Harry flinched and Dumbledore drew away fast, perhaps thinking he had over-stepped his bounds. After all, they weren’t supposed to touch like that anymore.

‘I’ve got about twenty or so now,’ Harry confessed, ‘all over my body. This is the only one on my face.’

There was a time when Dumbledore had known every inch of him as intimately as a lover. Harry wondered if the headmaster still remembered what he had looked like naked. After all those hours, stroking and caressing, he must have memorised the location of every mole and freckle.

‘I got this one in Berlin,’ Harry said, touching his own cheek, ‘chasing down a nasty little witch who’d killed ten people.’

‘I know,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I read about it in The Prophet.’

‘Oh, of course.’ Harry grinned. ‘Sometimes I forget that I’m famous.’

There was a brief moment of awkwardness and then Dumbledore suggested that they go for walk around the Royal Botanical Gardens. Harry agreed. It was a beautiful day and it was easy to while away the hours admiring the plants and flowers.

In the Tropical greenhouse, standing before the largest palm tree, Dumbledore took Harry’s hand and squeezed it tight, which made the younger man’s heart perform a strange little somersault.

‘I missed you,’ Dumbledore said softly.

Harry swallowed hard before speaking, finding his mouth unexpectedly dry. Perhaps it was too hot in the greenhouse. There was sweat running down his face and his shirt was sticking to his back.

‘I missed you too.’

Dumbledore regarded him sadly. ‘Why haven’t you come to visit me at all?’ He asked. ‘You know you can still come see me anytime.’

Harry looked away. ‘I’ve been busy. Travelling. You know, the usual.’

They were feeble excuses that the old man was sure to see through, but Harry thought Dumbledore was being deliberately dense. Harry couldn’t just go and snuggle up with Dumbledore the way he used to, not now he was in his twenties. It was impossible.

‘I heard they’ve given a desk job now,’ Dumbledore remarked. ‘How’s that suiting you?’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ Harry said briskly.

‘You don’t miss the adventure?’ Dumbledore pressed. ‘It can be quite difficult to adjust sometimes.’

‘I asked for the transfer,’ Harry clarified. ‘I think I’ve had enough adventure to last me a lifetime.’

He twitched irritably as fly zoomed past his ear, swatting at it with his free hand.

‘I’d rather not talk about work though, if you don’t mind. It’s all a little complicated right now.’

Dumbledore nodded. For a while, they both stopped talking and just walked around the greenhouse in silence.

They didn’t let go of one another’s hands until they were outside again, where there were more people wandering around. Neither of them wanted to draw attention from the muggle visitors who were already amused by Dumbledore’s flamboyant clothes and eccentric hairstyle. It wasn’t as if they could pass for a grandfather and grandson anymore.

‘Let’s go sit by the pond,’ Dumbledore suggested. ‘It looks nice and cool over there and I could do with a break.’

‘Alright,’ Harry agreed.

They clambered onto the rocks and dipped their hands in the cool water. Dumbledore picked up a handful of very small pebbles and skimmed them across the surface, making them hop back and forth with magic and dance upon the lily pads.

‘You ought to watch that,’ Harry said warningly. ‘There’s lots of kids around. They’re bound to start pestering you if you do too much, asking you to show them how the trick is done.’

Dumbledore ignored him, making an especially large stone spin round and round in the centre of a flower.

‘Are you angry with me, Harry?’ He asked, without looking up.

‘No, I just don’t think you should showing off like that.’

‘I don’t mean now, for this,’ Dumbledore clarified, summoning the stone back to the palm of his hand. ‘I mean for what happened, when you were younger. What I did to you.’

Harry felt himself blushing. ‘I’m not angry,’ he said quietly. ‘I was never angry with you about that.’

He picked up a stone of his own and threw it across the pond. It skimmed naturally, without any magical intervention, before sinking below the surface.

‘I liked it. I told you so, at the time.’

The memories floated back up to the surface of his mind, as clear as visions from a pensive. He recalled warmth of the old man’s body against his own and his sweet, musky scent. At one point he had dared to slip his hand under the headmaster’s robes and was surprised by the tickle of his chest hair.

‘Sometimes people feel differently about things later,’ Dumbledore said quietly. ‘Things look different with a little perspective.’

Harry shook his head.

‘Not me,’ he said shakily. ‘I don’t feel any different to how I used to.’

It was true. In fact it shocked him how much he still wanted to reach out and touch Dumbledore. How his skin tingled with anticipation whenever the headmaster leant in close.

He had assumed that he would feel different when he was a grown man with a girlfriend, but he didn’t. He felt just as he did when he was boy; soft and vulnerable and needy.

‘I’ve thought about it a lot, over the years,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘I thought I ought to write to you, to explain or apologise, but I was too much of a coward.’

Harry said nothing. He picked up another pebble absently and hurled it into the pond, without trying to make it skip.

‘When it started, I only thought of acting like a father to you,’ Dumbledore continued. ‘I know that your aunt and uncle never really cared for you as they should and I thought you might like to be treated like a child for once.’

‘I did,’ Harry whispered. ‘That’s exactly what I wanted.’

‘I could sense it,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘I didn’t think there was anything really wrong in bathing you or holding you as you were my own little boy. I liked it and I thought you liked it too.’

Harry felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. ‘I did,’ he confirmed again.

Dumbledore raised his eyes to meet his. They were even bluer than Harry remembered, as bright and clear as two drops of rain.

‘I never meant it be sexual,’ he insisted, ‘and it never occurred to me that you would interpret it that way. Not until that night, when you asked if there had been any others like you. It was only then that I realised that you thought we had something of an ... arrangement.’

Harry felt a fresh wave of shame roll over him. He opened his mouth to speak, without even knowing what he was going to say, but Dumbledore held up one hand, begging him to stay silent.

‘I wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that you were mistaken about me and how things were between us, but then I realised I couldn’t. My feelings were not so pure and uncomplicated as I had believed. I wanted you close, enjoyed touching your body. I cared for you like a child, yes, but there was something else there too. An attraction.’

Harry felt a shudder run down his spine. Dumbledore looked tortured, as if each and every word was causing him pain.

‘I know I should have stopped it then,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t know how. You accepted my feelings before I was even conscious of them. You were happy with the way things were and we weren’t really doing anything wrong.’

Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. ‘I have to apologise for that, even if you say you don’t feel any anger or resentment towards me. I didn’t act as I should have done. I have to take responsibility.’

Harry let out a little laugh. ‘If you want me to forgive you, I will, but I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for. I never felt like you were taking advantage of me. If anything, I felt like I was taking advantage of you.’

He ran a hand through his hair.

‘It feels so strange to be talking about it now. We never discussed it at the time.’

‘I know,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I was too afraid. I think we both were.’

He got up slowly, brushing the dirt off his suit, and reached out to help Harry up as well.

‘I’m glad we could talk about it now. You’re so important to me, Harry, in so many ways. I need things to be right between us.’

’They are,’ Harry assured him, clasping his hand firmly. ‘They always will be.’

They said a long, reluctant goodbye at the garden gates, all sad smiles and lingering looks. Harry hesitated before reaching in for a hug and knew, the moment the man’s arms closed around him, that it was a mistake. He had to wrench himself away in the end, feeling like he was tearing his heart in two.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had always thought he would be happy once he had a home of his own and someone to share it with. It was what he had imagined when he was lonely child trapped with relatives that hated him, his head filled with fairytales from Dudley’s storybooks, where paupers married princesses and orphans found their families, but he quickly realised that reality could never match up to the fantasy.

When he moved in with Ginny they immediately started bickering over small, insignificant things. She was constantly trying to draw Harry into discussions about curtains and carpets, which he had no interest in.

‘Why can’t you just decide by yourself?’ He asked, brushing aside colour charts and swatches. ‘I really don’t know anything about this sort of stuff.’ 

‘Because this is supposed to be our house, not just mine.’ Ginny replied. ‘I want to know what you think.’ She held up two little cards. ‘Now, which do you prefer? Pale Blush or Dusky Rose?’ 

Harry didn’t care. 

He had never had a chance to develop a taste of his own, going as he had from a threadbare, hand-me-down childhood to a uniform, communal existance in a fully-furnished castle. He wanted something similar now. A cosy, ready-made life that he could simply step into. 

‘Why can’t we leave things the way they are,’ He grumbled. ‘This is fine, isn’t it? Quite grand and stately.’ He gestured vaguely at the dark wood panelling all around them without really seeing it. 

Ginny let out a shriek of laughter. 

‘Are you joking, Harry? This is the gloomiest house I’ve ever been in. No wonder Sirius hated it. It’s so dark and dingy and half the place is falling to pieces anyway. Infested with doxies and terramites. We have to replace it all.’ 

Harry couldn’t argue with that. Number Twelve, Grimauld Place was definitely in major need of repair. He just didn’t want to be the one to do it. He wanted to simply come home one day and have it all done, without his having to lift a finger.

‘Well, I spent the first eleven years of my life in a cupboard,’ he snapped, 'so I guess I have pretty low standards. 

**

The pressure of his job took its toll too. Even after transferring to a desk job, the weight of responsibility was crippling. He was offered promotion after promotion, in a way that made it impossible to decline, and soon found himself the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, a position that he hated. It got so bad that each morning he awoke to a sense of dread and could hardly bear to get out of bed. 

The only reason he kept on with it, day after day, was because so many people were counting on him. What would they think if he chucked it all in? What would they say about him? 

He felt eyes on him all the time, searching for weakness, an uneasy paranoia fuelled by the never-ending articles about him. The Daily Prophet was always there to remind him that his fear of disgrace wasn’t entirely all in his head.

‘I can’t believe they’re still saying you’re crazy!’ Ginny exclaimed one morning, paper in hand. ‘After everything that’s happened.’ 

They did say it though. Whenever he was perceived to have made a bad decision or supported a controversial policy. Sometimes they cloaked it with more sympathetic language, referring to all the “trauma” he had suffered and speculating how it might have “warped” his perception of the world. 

‘You’d have to be mad to do my job,’ he joked, while cringing internally. All the attention and criticism made him want to do nothing more than crawl into some dark hole somewhere and hide away there for several years, like a disembodied Voldemort.

He smiled and acted strong as best he could, but he knew that the moment his desire for escape outweighed the shame he would leave it all behind. 

**

Their biggest strain on his relationship was his own reluctance to get married. Ginny had expected that they would do so as soon as the war was over, just as Ron and Hermione had done, but Harry had never wanted such a hasty union. 

‘It’s not that I don’t love you,’ Harry told her. ‘It’s just that I’m not ready to get married yet. I mean, we’re still so young.’ 

The very thought of forging such a permanent, unbreakable bond with another human being was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. There was nothing warm or comforting about the prospect. Instead it was just another obligation that hunched him over and made his bones ache. 

Ginny said he was afraid of commitment and she was probably right, but he wished she wouldn’t say so out-loud, especially in front of her family. It made them all look at him differently - with cold, suspicious eyes. 

Sunday lunches at the Burrow had gone from something he looked forward to all week, to something dreaded. Mrs Weasley constantly dropped pointed hints while the other members of the family each made their own happy announcements in turn. 

Ginny started to grow impatient. They’d been engaged for years now and there was no hint of them actually moving on and doing the deed. Harry was still dragging his feet, despite her pushing and prodding, and showed no intention of picking up the pace. 

‘It’s not like we’d be rushing into anything now,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s been years since the war and if we’re going to be together forever anyway what difference does it make?’ 

But Harry just couldn’t do it. He knew that as soon as he gave in Ginny would start badgering him about life’s next big milestone and that was the last thing he wanted. 

‘We don’t have to have kids right after getting married,’ Ginny said slyly. ‘I can wait until things are a little more settled in your job and you have the time.’ 

Harry wasn’t fooled though. He could tell that Ginny thought he would change his mind once they were married and they would start having babies soon enough. For her, the prospect of children was always just over the horizon, just one or two years away, but for Harry it was quite different. For him, it was a complete impossibility. 

When he lay in bed at night his heart screamed the words that he could never say out-loud, for fear of the consequences. I never want children. Not now, not later, not ever, ever, ever. 

No, no, no.

**

Things only got worse after he got back from Edinburgh and his head was filled with Albus Dumbledore. The man haunted him, like a ghost, and when he closed his eyes he saw him sat in his cosy little sitting room, beside a crackling fire, waiting for Harry to join him. 

He started to see Ginny as nothing more than an obstacle, the thing keeping him from what he wanted. He knew he was being stupid. Ginny wasn’t holding him prisoner or anything. He could go back to Hogwarts and visit his old headmaster if he wanted. He could sit with him and talk with him and even lay his head down on his lap to doze.

Except he couldn’t, not really, for a thousand indefinable reasons. Ginny was just the only concrete one. That was her misfortune.   
Resentment simmered away inside him like a noxious potion, boiling up and bubbling over in sharp words and bitter jibes. Their arguments grew more frequent and intense, culminating in long, awkward silences. In those times Harry knew he ought to apologise, own up to his failings and be the bigger man about it, but sometimes he could hardly bear to look Ginny in the eyes. He hated the very sight of her. It was a relief whenever she stormed out, leaving him alone. 

The space between them had widened to a chasm, cold and gaping in their king-size bed. Harry rolled away from Ginny as soon as he got in and didn’t even bother to say goodnight. 

Ginny curled up against the wall, like some sort of linchin or moss, taking up hardly any space whatsoever. Sometimes she was gone before Harry woke up, without leaving so much as a dent in her side of the mattress, and he never felt anything but relief at her absence. 

One night she whispered to him in a papery voice, across the divide.

‘Is there someone else?’ 

Harry pretended not to hear. He didn’t know the answer. 

**

Ginny lost it when he finally handed-in his notice at the ministry, without warning, one Tuesday afternoon. There was no big incident that precipitated the act. In fact, it had been a very quiet time at The Office of Magical Law Enforcement. Perhaps that was why Harry finally found the time, and the courage, to finish drafting his resignation letter and walk it down to the Minister’s office.

‘Why didn’t you tell me anything about it?!’ Ginny demanded. ‘We should have talked it over together!’

‘I didn’t realise I had to ask your permission!’ Harry snapped. ‘Excuse me for stepping out of line.’ 

‘A little bit of warning would have been nice, that’s all!’ Ginny threw back at him. ‘We’re supposed to be a team, Harry, and you never talk to me about anything. Didn’t you realise that this would affect me too? Do you even have a plan for the future? Do you know what you want to do with your life?!’ 

Harry didn’t and hated her for pointing it out. He felt so trapped. It was as if he was supposed to go along with what everyone else wanted for him or else come up with a brilliant alternative and sell it to them all, even though they were poised to reject anything he suggested. 

‘You don’t care about what I want!’ He yelled. ‘You just want me earning a nice, fat salary so that I can support you when you start popping out children!’

‘That is not fair!’ Ginny gasped, tears clinging to her lashes. ‘I’ve waited and waited for you to be ready and it’s never the right time! I’ve put my whole life on hold for you!’ 

‘You think I haven’t felt that?’ Harry hissed. ‘Every day with you glancing at the calendar! I don’t think you even see me for me, you’re just waiting - impatiently - for the man I’m supposed to be!’ 

‘I am!’ Ginny sobbed. ‘You’re right! And I can’t wait much longer, Harry. I just can’t. You need to man up. You need to make a decision.’ 

‘Why me?!’ Harry demanded, feeling close to tears himself. ‘Why is it always me? Why can’t you just support me for once? Why can’t you just be there for me, at a time like this? Why do you have to have a go at me?’

‘Because a relationship isn’t just one person doing everything for the other and making them feel good! It’s give and take. and I think you forget that, sometimes. You seem to want someone to just take care of you without asking anything in return.’

She was right, again. Her words cut him like a knife. It was all he’d ever wanted ... and he’d had it once.

They both fell quiet, eyeing at each other uneasily, and then Ginny turned away and made to leave. Harry reached out to her, grabbing her arm and calling out her name because - despite everything - he did still love her. 

‘Don’t go,’ he whispered. ‘Please.’ 

She turned to face him, her pale face etched with pain. ‘You don’t want me to stay though. Not like this. It’s never going to work.’ 

Harry couldn’t argue with this, so he said the only thing he could think of, the only thing that seemed appropriate. 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

Ginny smiled sadly, fresh tears welling in her eyes. 

‘Me too.’ 

**

She moved out on a Monday, while Harry was still in bed, and he still hadn’t got up by the following Friday. He felt like she had taken all his energy with him, packing it up in one of her suitcases and lugging it out the door, leaving him a hollow shell of a man.

There was a permanent chill to the air and a sense of hopelessness that Harry had come to associate with Dementors. He bundled himself tight in the bedclothes, leaving nothing but his face exposed, but never seemed able to get warm. 

Kreacher came in and out at regular intervals to restock the fire and sweep out the ashes. He brought in fresh food on trays and cleaned out old ones. Harry didn’t eat much though. Sometimes the bowls left almost as full as they had come, with only a couple of bites taken out.

Harry lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, tortured by uneasy dreams. His ribs were pushing their way out again, as they had when he was a child, and sometimes Harry imagined he was back at The Dursley’s. He almost heard Aunt Petunia banging on the door, telling him to get up. 

‘Leave me alone. Just leave me alone.’

There was a creaking of floorboards, shuffling footsteps, and then a hand pressed itself to Harry’s forehead, far more gently than Aunt Petunua’s ever would have. Harry stirred. 

‘Hermione?’

‘No,’ replied a rich, musical voice. ‘It’s me.’ 

Harry’s heart almost stopped. 

‘Albus?’

‘Yes.’ 

Dumbledore sat down on the edge of the bed, arranging his long robes carefully, and smiled down at Harry.

‘I heard you were feeling unwell.’ His hand moved across his head, taking the temperature of his skin. ‘You’re very cold and clammy.’

Harry couldn’t think what to say. His tongue was too thick for his mouth, his brain too slow and sleepy. 

‘Who ... ?’

‘Ms Granger. She wrote to me and told me you’ve been bedridden for weeks. Is it true you sent her and Mr Weasley away when they tried to visit? That seems rather foolish, if you’ll forgive me saying so. When one is as ill as you are you need careful nursing back to health.’

He moved his hands to Harry’s waist, which was as slender as a girl’s.

‘You’re all skin and bone,’ he sighed. ‘Have you been eating at all?’ 

He looked over his shoulder and repeated the question. ‘Has he been eating?’

Harry jumped when he saw two large round eyes glistening in the shadows, like freshly-peeled lychee. 

‘A little,’ Kreacher croaked. ‘The master doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite.’

‘Well, we must try to pique his interest,’ Dumbledore said. ‘He needs fattening up. I think perhaps a butternut squash soup to start? Something warm and nourishing. That was always your favourite, wasn’t it my dear?’

Harry nodded weakly and Kreacher hurried off to the kitchen. 

‘I’m surprised you remember.’ 

‘I remember all your favourite foods,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘Perhaps I’ll have Kreacher make you an apple pie later, if you think you can manage it? I can always help you.’ 

When the soup arrived he just that, spooning it into his mouth slowly, little by little, until the bowl was empty and Harry was full. Then he wiped his mouth clean with a napkin. 

‘You’re still so cold,’ He murmured. ‘Your skin’s like ice but you’re covered in sweat.’ He ran his fingers through Harry’s damp, greasy hair.

‘Perhaps I could just sponge down your face? A nice, warm cloth would be just the thing.’ 

Harry lay back as Dumbledore bathed his face and brushed back his hair behind his ears, feeling nothing short of treasured.

‘I’m not really sick,’ he confessed finally. 

‘Ah,’ said Dumbledore knowingly. ‘Just sad?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘I heard that you and Miss Weasley broke up,’ Dumbledore remarked, ‘and you quit your job. That’s lot to mourn.’ 

‘It’s been ... a tough time,’ 

‘I’m sure.’ 

Dumbledore set aside the washcloth and rolled his sleeves back down. His robes were a beautiful crimson red embroidered with golden leaves, flowers, birds and butterflies. It made Harry think of a hot summer’s garden teeming with life. 

‘You know, I’ve been thinking of retiring for a while now. I’ve been headmaster at Hogwarts for far too long. It’s time to move on.’ 

‘Oh no!’ Harry gasped. ‘You can’t!’

He couldn’t imagine a Hogwarts without Albus Dumbledore. Who would smile down at the first years as they filed into the great hall? Who would deliver humorous speeches and serious advice? Who would be there for the lost, lonely little children with no one else to turn to?

‘The students need you. You have to take care of them.’ 

Dumbledore smiled sweetly ‘Perhaps I want to take of you instead.’

Harry stared at him. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do,’ Dumbledore said, as earnest as a boy proposing marriage. ‘Would you let me take care of you, Harry? Would you like that?’

Harry swallowed. ‘Yes,’ he croaked. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Then it’s settled.’ 

**

The rest of the evening passed like a dream. Dumbledore went to run a bath and Harry sat up in the bed, with his arms around his knees, listening to the distant sound of running water and shivering in anticipation. They smiled shyly at each other when Dumbledore returned, unsure how they should behave.

‘I thought I could get everything ready for you just as I used to,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Is that all right?’

‘Yeah. Thank you.’

Dumbledore put down a towel on the foot of the bed and knelt down on the floor beside him. 

‘May I undress you?’ 

Harry hesitated. ‘I’m ... really dirty.’

‘I know. That’s why you need a bath.’

Dumbledore leant over him and popped open the top two buttons on his pyjamas. 

‘You never need to feel shy around me, Harry. To me, you’re perfect.’

Harry sighed and leant back against the pillow, closing his eyes. Dumbledore’s hand slipped under his top and found the warm throb of his heart. He held it for a moment or two, counting the beats, measuring Harry’s response. 

‘Does that feel okay?’ He asked, just to confirm. 

‘Yes. Please, go on.’

He finished unbuttoning and pulled the fabric free. Harry’s chest was hot again, pungent with perspiration, but Dumbledore honestly didn’t seem to mind. He gently moved on to his bottoms, dragging them off with his underwear in one fluid movement. He didn’t stop and stare, although his fingers lingered a little on Harry’s bony hips, his thumbs hooking into the smooth, deep hollows.

‘May I carry you through?’

‘Yes. Please.’

Harry draped his arm around Dumbledore’s neck and leant into his body. Dumbledore cast a Featherlight spell over Harry to make his body weightless and carried him like a child. Harry’s legs dangled down from Dumbledore’s arms, his bare feet swinging back and forth in the air. 

The bathroom smelt of lavender and camomile and the air was filled with bright purple bubbles. Dumbledore lowered Harry slowly into the tub, giving his body time to adjust to the heat, and then knelt down beside him to wash his hair. Harry closed his eyes, letting all the tension drain from his body. 

‘I’ve missed this,’ he murmured. 

‘Me too.’ 

Dumbledore washed him thoroughly and then held up a large, fluffy towel. Harry grinned and climbed out into it, letting Dumbledore scoop him up again and carry him back to the bedroom. 

‘And now the lotion?’ Harry prompted. 

‘Is ... that what you want?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

Dumbledore stripped the sheets so Harry could lie down with his whole body on show and slowly began to rub lotion all over him. Harry closed his eyes and lost himself in the familiar movements. It felt so good, so right. 

Dumbledore spent a long time re-acquainting himself with Harry’s body, tracing his fingertips along the shallow valleys of his scars and the firm peaks of his muscles, still taut and defined despite his decline in activity. He tickled the bumps of Harry’s ribs and then stilled at the base of his hips. 

‘Would you like more?’ He whispered. 

‘Yes,’ Harry replied without hesitation. ‘Yes. Please, go on.’ 

And it swept over him like a warm wave, lapping at his thighs, his stomach and his chest. Nerves singing out in pleasure. No fear, no uncertainty, only joy and relief. 

**

Once it was over Dumbledore wiped him clean again, dressed him up in fresh, clean pyjamas and tucked him into bed. Harry felt warm and boneless, like a well-cooked piece of meat. 

‘What about you?’ He asked. ‘Don’t you want something? It must be uncomfortable.’

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘But - ‘ 

‘Not now. Not today. Just let me take care of you.’ 

Dumbledore leant down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. His mouth was cool and dry, his beard smooth and soft. It felt like being kissed by a flower with a cottony down. 

‘I love you so much, Harry. You know that, don’t you?’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry sighed happily. ‘I know. I love you too.’ 

He was calm and content. 

‘Will you read to me until I fall asleep?’

‘If you like.’

Dumbledore started glancing around the room. Harry thought he must be looking for a book, but then he asked, ‘Have you still got your bear?’ 

‘Oh!’ Harry let out a burble of surprised laughter. ‘Yes - yes, I do! It’s in the wardrobe, in a box in the bottom drawer. It’s warded shut though.’ 

He had been terrified of Ginny finding it. She knew he had grown up with muggles who despised him. There would be no explanation for where the bear had come from or who had given it to him. 

‘That’s okay,’ Dumbledore said, kneeling down and cutting through the spell in a second. ‘Oh, look at you. You’re still so clean and tidy.’ 

He lifted the bear out of its box and brought it over to Harry. It all but leapt into his arms, eager to be held and cuddled again. 

‘He missed you too,’ Dumbledore said fondly.  
He tucked them in together and summoned a book from the bookcase downstairs. Harry settled down, Teddy’s muzzle in his throat, and sighed deeply. He started to drift off almost immediately, soothed by the sound of Dumbledore’s voice. 

The book clapped shut and the bed creaked. Harry was all but gone but had just enough awareness to reach out and grab Dumbledore’s robe. 

‘No - don’t go. Get in.’

‘Are you sure?’ 

‘Yes. Please.’ 

Dumbledore climbed in beside him and draped an arm over Harry’s chest. The bear shuffled at his fingers, making them both chuckle.

‘My lovely, special boy,’ Dumbledore murmured, fingers in Harry’s hair.   
It was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep. 

**

In the morning Harry had breakfast with Dumbledore. Porridge with chunks of banana and golden syrup. One of Harry’s favourites. He spooned it into his mouth eagerly, savouring the sweetness. 

‘I’m glad to see you’ve got your appetite back.’ 

‘I feel a lot better. Thank you.’ 

‘Good.’ Dumbledore sipped his tea. ‘I understand why you might want a little peace after everything you’ve been through, but it’s not healthy to withdraw away entirely. You need food, fresh air, exercise.’

Harry drooped down in his seat. ‘Yeah, I know, I know.’ He churned the porridge round in his bowl. ‘I just couldn’t see any reason to get up.’

‘I’m not telling you off, Harry. I only want to help you.’

He reached across the table to take his hand and smiled tenderly at him. 

‘Now, I get the impression that you’re not ready to make any big decisions about the future, and that’s fine by me. I only advise that you try and establish a simple routine. Something to give you structure each and every day. Regular mealtimes and a walk each afternoon.’ 

Harry smiled back at him. ‘Sound advice, as always.’ 

‘You’ll need to nourish your mind too, as well as your body.’ Dumbledore withdrew his hand and adjusted his spectacles. ‘Are there any books you’ve been meaning to read? I could recommend a few.’ 

‘A reading list?’ Harry laughed. 

‘If you like.’ 

‘Perhaps we could ... ‘ he trailed off. ‘No, never mind.’ He laughed again. ‘I’m being silly.’ 

‘No, go on,’ urged Dumbledore.

‘I was just wondering whether we could resume our music lessons,’ Harry said, blushing furiously. 

Dumbledore quirked a brow. ‘Have you been practicing?’ 

‘No,’ Harry laughed. ‘We don’t even have a piano.’ 

He spread his arms wide as if to highlight the wide empty space of the house, bleached of all character. 

‘Well, that is easily remedied.’ 

‘No! I didn’t mean that you should buy me one!’ Harry protested. ‘I can buy one myself. I have the money.’ 

‘Do you know anything about quality instruments?’

‘Er - no, not really.’ Harry frowned. ‘Not like you, I suppose.’

‘Then it’s settled.’ Dumbledore beamed at him. ‘I’ll find you something suitable.’ 

He returned to his tea for a while, stirring it with a little silver spoon and drinking deeply. Harry finished off his porridge and took a big gulp of pumpkin juice. 

‘It will take me some time to finalise my retirement. I think I ought to stay until the end of this year. In the meantime I can come and see you in the evenings and on the weekends. If that’s alright with you?’ 

‘Yes. Thank you very much.’ 

‘We can talk, play games, practice on the piano and ... ‘ he paused delicately. ‘I can continue to take care of you, as I did last night.’ He met Harry’s eyes. ‘If that’s what you want?’ 

‘It is.’

**

The upright piano arrived two days later. It was a simple, serviceable instrument, perfectly tuned, just to “get started on,” as Dumbledore put it. 

‘I’d like to find you something really special if you decide you want to continue,’ he explained, ‘but finding something of a higher calibre would take time and I didn’t want to put off our lessons any longer than necessary.’ 

When Harry brought his hands to the keys he was surprised to find that he remembered exactly where to put his fingers. He went through the scales with ease and even managed to rattle off an simple tune without prompting. 

‘That’s wonderful, Harry,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘You’re not at all rusty.’ 

‘Like riding a broom.’

They practiced together for an hour each day. Dumbledore advised it would take years to learn to play truly well, but Harry wasn’t perturbed. 

‘I’ve got nothing but time.’

‘Are you planning to become a pianist now?’ Albus asked teasingly. ‘That certainly would be a dramatic career change.’ 

‘I don’t want to be anything,’ Harry replied. ‘I just want to be with you.’

Dumbledore regarded him curiously. 

‘Do you mean that?’ 

Harry looked away, ashamed. ‘No, not really. I suppose I’ll have to get another job eventually.’ 

The thought made him want to be sick. He wondered what he could possibly do that would satisfy everyone’s expectations. Nothing he would enjoy, surely. He could try and get a job in the muggle world, he supposed, where no one knew him - but no, the press and the gossip-mongers would always track him down. Besides, he didn’t have any muggle qualifications. 

‘You don’t have to, you know,’ Dumbledore said. ‘You have enough money from your parents to live on comfortably for the rest of your life and plenty of wealthy wizards choose not to work.’

He gave Harry one of his penetrating looks; ice blue eyes staring into his very soul.

‘You’ve done so much for the wizarding world in your short life. You don’t owe them anything more.’

He moved his hands to the piano and began to play Beathoven’s Moonlight Sonata. 

‘Of course, there are lots of things you could choose to do instead of regular employment. You could join a committee or a society. There are no obligations with many such positions, only opportunities.’

He continued to play as he spoke, the music rising and falling mesmerically. 

‘Or you could always write a book. The world has been clamouring for your autobiography for years now.’

Harry snorted, trying to hide his discomfort. ‘I can’t write.’

‘I would help you if you wanted me to. It would be no trouble. I’ve co-authored dozens of books, and countless essays.’ 

He stopped abruptly, fingers falling still. 

‘Of course, if you don’t wish to do any of that, that’s fine too. I will be here for you, Harry, whatever you choose.’

Harry moved closer, leant his head against Dumbledore’s shoulder. Closed his eyes.   
  
Could he really live just like this? An unending childhood with small, simple pleasures. It was all he ever wanted

‘I just want us to be together and I want you to ... look after me.’ 

Dumbledore put his arm around him.   
  
‘Precious boy. Your wish is granted.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still would like to write a bit more for this story BUT that’s going to take more time I expect! Sorry for the wait. I thought it best to at least finalise the happy ending!!


	4. Chapter 4

The empty spaces in Harry’s life were quickly filled with comfortable furniture and healthy activity. A schedule appeared each morning on the kitchen noticeboard, (itself, a recent addition), slicing Harry’s day into bitesize chunks. 

**8am:** Breakfast, Egg and Toast Soldiers. Followed by Fruit and Yoghurt.   
**9am:** Morning Run, Through the park and to the river. Feed the ducks before walking back home.   
**10.30pm:** Classic Reading, Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.   
**1pm:** Lunch. Tomato Soup, Half Sandwich and Salad.   
**1.30pm:** Piano Lesson. Tchaikovsky’s November, from The Seasons Op 37a.  
**2.00pm:** Modern Reading, The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro.   
**4.00pm:** Naptime with Teddy.   
**5.00pm:** Flying Practice in Alexor’s Wood, (Booked). Apparate or Floo to Welcome Lodge.   
**7.00pm:** Dinner, Bistro Steak and Roast Potatoes. Followed by Apple Tart.   
**8.00pm: **Piano Practice.  
**8.45pm: **Games Time, Chess and Cluedo.   
**9.45pm:** Milk and Cookies.  
**10.00:** Bath and Bedtime. 

Dumbledore penned the schedule in much the same way he used to draft student timetables. Harry settled back into a structured life with relief. It was like coming home. 

Each night, Dumbledore bathed him and washed his hair and carried him, like a baby, to his bed and tucked him up tenderly. He sat beside him for a long time, stroking his hair and kissing his face, before asking, 

‘Would you like me to settle you down to sleep?’ 

And when Harry said yes - for he almost always said yes, unless he was very, very tired or unwell - his hands would creep under the duvet and into Harry’s pyjamas. A full-body massage, as thorough as could be, culminating with what Harry understood was colloquially called “A Happy Ending.”

Dumbledore never undressed himself. Never asked for anything in return. Harry offered, breathlessly, but the old man always declined.   
  
‘My urges are not nearly as keen as yours,’ he told Harry. ‘Seeing you enjoy yourself is more than enough.’

‘But I want to,’ Harry protested. ‘I do love you, Albus.’ His hands at his robes. ‘I want to make you feel good too. I don’t mind that you’re so old, if that’s what’s worrying you. You don’t need to be shy about your body.’

‘Ah Harry,’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘Don’t let us argue about this now. I would like us to be ... intimate, at some point, but I want to find a way that’s right, for both of us.’

Harry wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘I - I’ll try anything you want.’ He hesitated. ‘There’s some stuff I’m less keen on, but we can talk about it. I’m not some little kid anymore. I know about sex. I’ve had some experience.’ 

‘Yes, yes, you’re a man of the world,’ Dumbledore said, kissing him fondly on the nose. ‘I don’t want to do anything you don’t like though. I want to find a solution that fits our ... way of doing things.’

‘Oh.’ Harry shuffled down under the bedclothes. ‘Do you mean like, role play or something?’ 

He didn’t like to talk about the arrangement they had. Afraid that if he put it into words it would break the spell somehow, just as it had all those years ago when he’d asked Dumbledore if he’d ever had a “favourite” before. 

He was a man now. There was nothing forbidden about their close relationship. The rest of the world might think it strange, unnatural even, but it felt perfectly right to Harry. They both understood, without speaking, the game that they were playing. Harry pretending to be the little boy that he had never got a chance to be and Dumbledore caring for him like a parent, as well as a friend and a lover. 

‘Perhaps,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘I shall have to think about it. There’s no rush.’

He kissed him again, soft on the lips, like a prince waking a beauty in a fairytale. Then he left Harry a while, to wash and change himself. The mysterious and private rituals of a man who’d spent the best part of a century living alone. Harry didn’t mind. He dozed until Dumbledore returned smelling of lavender and camomile and then they cuddled up together; the closest of bedfellows.   
  


**

Harry didn’t really want to see anyone else, let alone his best friends. He loved Ron and Hermione more than he could ever say, second best to Albus, but he was afraid that they would blame him for the break-up. He could just imagine all The Weasleys tutting over him at Sunday dinner, wondering where it all went wrong. 

He wrote to them regularly enough. Hermione was fond of long letters that arrived almost every morning with her exhausted barn owl, Hermes. He declined any invitation to meet for dinner, lunch or even coffee, until she finally stopped asking.

Dumbledore watched him scratching out his responses without comment until, one day, he announced that they were going to have a little dinner party. 

‘I’m sorry, what?’ 

‘It’s already on the schedule,’ Dumbledore said, pointing at the Noticeboard. ‘I’ve invited Mr Weasley and Ms Granger, as well as Mr Longbottom, Miss Lovegood and Minerva - she’s dying to give me a piece of her mind about my so-called “early retirement.” I keep telling her that there’s nothing premature in my leaving, after all these years, but she rather thinks I should keep working until death, as many headmasters do.’ 

‘Well, look, that’s - that’s fine. You can have Professor McGonaggal round, if you like. It’s, um, as much your place as mine. That is, I want you to treat it as your home too. But - but Ron and Hermione are my friends!’ 

‘I know,’ Dumbledore said calmly. ‘That’s why I invited them. They were delighted to accept. Sent in their RSVPs within hours.’ 

He flicked his fingers in the air and several square white cards appeared between them. Harry was aghast to see four gold-leafed invitations, as ornate as for a wedding. The acceptance box ticked on each, with a scribbled, ‘Can’t wait!’ in Hermione’s hand.   
  
‘Did you send these as if they were from me?’ Harry demanded. 

‘I didn’t put a name,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘They all know I’m living here though and I doubt they think the thing was entirely your idea.’ 

Harry looked away, a lump coming to his throat. ‘What if I don’t want to have a dinner party? I - I’m not ready to see people.’ 

‘Harry,’ Dumbledore said gently. ‘It has been months now. You may never feel entirely ready to meet people, but you can’t move on until you do. Once the initial awkwardness has passed it will be just as it used to be. I’m sure Ron doesn’t hold anything against you.’ 

Harry grunted doubtfully. 

‘It’s on the schedule,’ Dumbledore said again, as if that settled the matter. 

Which, in fact, it did. Harry couldn’t argue with the schedule. It was a sacred text.

**

‘The house looks lovely,’ Hermione exclaimed as she arrived, unthreading a silk scarf from her neck. ‘I suppose Dumbledore decorated for you?’

‘Obviously,’ Harry replied with a nervous laugh. ‘You know I’m hopeless at that sort of thing. Ginny was always on at me about it.’ 

He immediately regretted the words. He flushed uncomfortably and glanced at Ron, who’d also gone all red. He shifted, from foot to foot, and coughed. 

‘I - I like it,’ he offered at last. ‘I mean, it’s an improvement to all the gloomy old stuff and those flowery bits that Ginny likes.’ 

Hermione frowned at him, as if she thought he’d put his foot in it, but Harry took the comment for what it was; a peace offering, and a sign that he was on Harry’s side. 

‘It’s a work in progress,’ Dumbledore said, swooping in with drinks. He magicked Ron and Hermione’s coats away and bustled them through to the parlour. ‘Miss Lovegood and Mr Longbottom are already here. Help yourself to some nibbles.’ 

Little gold dishes of fruit and nuts covered the table, along with pretty candles and ornaments. It only occurred to Harry, as he stared down at them, how full the room had become. Seeing it through fresh eyes he was aware of all the fine furnishings. The Chinese red wood and heavy scarlet drapes, the gold and silver trinkets. Luna was peering down at a huge antique globe that Harry was sure hadn’t been there yesterday. Dumbledore couldn’t have done more if he was a professional interior designer. 

‘Oh, Harry,’ Luna greeted him in her usual dreamy, drawl. ‘This is lovely, isn’t it?’ She floated across the room in a bright blue ballgown, oversized crescent moon buttons pinning the material in place. ‘Do you like my dress? I made it myself.’ 

‘Um, yes. It’s very you.’

A knock at the door spared him from dredging up any further compliments. Dumbledore bounded off again and moments letter Professor McGonagall joined them. She smiled warmly at Harry, like a doting great aunt meeting with her favourite nephew. 

‘Hello, Harry. It’s lovely to see you. So grown up! So many scars! I don’t blame you for quitting. They clearly weren’t taking good enough care of you at the Ministry. Madame Pomfrey would go mad!’

Harry wasn’t sure how to greet her, whether he ought to offer her a kiss on the cheek, as Dumbledore had done, or a clumsy hug. They had never been that close. In the end, he just smiled and nodded, which felt about right. 

Dumbledore had always behaved like a much younger man but tonight he was bursting with energy, laughing and rushing about like a child. His silvery beard crackling with magic. Everyone entered into the festive spirit and soon Harry started to enjoy himself. 

‘You really must speak to the School Board, Albus,’ McGonagall pleaded as they munched their way though turkey and vegetables. ‘If you insist on leaving then we must find a suitable replacement.’

‘Really, Minerva, I don’t see why you can’t take over from me. No one knows the place better than you.’ 

‘Well, that’s what I meant!’ McGonagall said, with a surprising titter. ‘I put my name forward, of course, but the board are seriously considering Curtis Caywood, the Ministry’s man.’ 

‘Never fear, Minerva. I shall write to them tomorrow and name you my successor. They shall not deny me my last wish.’ 

‘Last wish! Goodness gracious! You’re not dying, Albus!’

‘Far from it. My life is starting over. You might view it as a quiet retirement, but I see it as the beginning of a great new adventure.’ 

‘You’re looking great, Harry,’ Hermione whispered from his other side. ‘Really. Ginny’s fine too. Just in case you want to know. She’s not nursing a grudge. None of us are.’ 

Harry wasn’t sure he believed her, although he appreciated her saying so. 

‘Where is she?’ He asked. ‘Is she still home with Mrs Weasley?’

‘No, she’s gone abroad. She’s got a new job with The Prophet, covering the quidditch. She’s watching all the matches now.’ 

‘That’s great,’ Harry said earnestly. ‘She’s such a good writer. She wanted to do sports, ever since she started out. She didn’t want to travel though, not with me away so much.’ 

I held her back, he thought sadly. ‘I should have made her do it. She was just so ... loyal though. She wanted to be there for me. I guess she thought I was really going to be something.’ 

‘It wasn’t just you,’ Hermione assured him. ‘She was trying too hard to be like her mother. Mrs Weasley is so ... traditional.’ She sniffed. ‘I always said Ginny ought to be more ambitious, instead of focussing all her energy on being a homemaker. That’s not the sort of life you wanted and it didn’t really suit her either. One day, I’m sure she’ll be a wonderful mother but until then she should just enjoy being single.’ 

Harry gave her a smile that turned into a grimace. 

‘It was ... my fault.’ 

‘Don’t, Harry.’ Hermione cast about for a distraction. ‘What are you doing to do now? Have you got any plans? I know you don’t want to work at the ministry anymore ... Perhaps you’d like to travel too?’

‘Maybe,’ Harry mumbled. ‘Albus thinks I should join some committees. Something to keep me occupied without being too taxing. He thinks I had a bit of a ... you know, breakdown. From all the stress.’

‘Well, of course you did!’ Hermione bristled. ‘That job was killing you! I was always saying so!’

She had never said anything like that, as far as Harry remembered, although they were always complaining about their respective workloads. Hermione had considered it a natural part of adult life. Not something one could actually do anything about. Besides, Harry always thought she rather enjoyed the stressful parts of her job. She’d always been a hard-worker, going above and beyond. 

‘You could run for the Wizengamot,’ Ron chipped in, his mouth full of potato. ‘They need some new members. Good guys that will vote against anti-werewolf legislation.’

‘Oh yes!’ Hermione agreed. ‘That would be wonderful.’

**

Harry waved goodbye to his friends from the door, watching until they finally disappeared from sight, then he closed the door heavily. His strength seemed to drain with the click of the lock and he slumped over wearily. There was a distant scuttling as Kreacher moved about the kitchen, cleaning up dirty dishes. 

‘Harry?’ Albus called. 

Harry let out a breath. ‘What?’ He responded petulantly. 

‘Come here, darling.’

Harry forehead scraped the wood. ‘Now?’

‘Now, darling.’ 

Harry padded back through to the living room. Albus was there, waiting for him, smiling. Wordlessly, he gestured at the rocking chair, and Harry understood. Albus took the seat and then Harry climbed in on top. Resting his head on Albus’s chest, the old man’s beard a cushion, he closed his eyes again. Albus’s fingers began to comb through his hair. _Swish, swish, swish._ Soft, gentle and comforting. 

‘Darling,’ Albus said again. ‘Darling, darling. How are you feeling? You must be tired.’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry breathed. ‘So tired.’ 

‘You did very well.’ His hands moved to his back to rub there. ‘Thank you for making the effort.’

Harry sighed. ‘I did enjoy seeing my friends.’   
  
‘It was hard for you too, though I know. I know.’ He kissed the top of his head. ‘You have a rest now. It’s important to see people, and it’s important to take time to recover. Harry felt infinitely grateful to have someone who truly understood him without words. He nuzzled against his lover. 

‘Thank you for inviting them.’ 

‘You’re welcome.’


End file.
